Hilling Home

This morning we spent three hours in the potatoes, ‘hilling’ them, which basically means using the Ozark Hoe to pull soil around the stem of the plant, making a little ‘hill’. This is usually done a few times a season to vegetables that are considered ‘tubers’ (the edible part being the stem as opposed to the root or flower of the plant). That was some slave work right there – we even burst out with a round of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” (which my dyslexic/language-challenged brain always thought was “Sweet Low, Sweet Cherry High”, lol). Even though my hands were swelling with blisters after all was said and done, I actually really enjoyed it. Although my body is fatigued at times, I really do like the physical jobs more than the detail orientated, little-movement tasks like washing salad or sowing seeds. Plus, I want some John Henry-working-on-the-railroad pipes by the end of this season! 

Paul shot at the woodpecker with a garden hose!  Only he came back 20 minutes later...

I’ve read some good interviews recently, one being with author and OSU professor Kathleen Dean Moore who suggests that our personal identities are strongly tied to ‘place’. Not only are our bodies composed of the minerals and particles we share with the water, air, and soil specific to our geography – but our ‘Self’ is also constructed from location and landscape – by way of memory. Memories are easily conjured when we return to specific places, for example; the front porch of the home you grew up in, or the oceanside you vacationed at for years. She uses this context to explore what our obligations are to the landbase and the psychological ramifications of neglecting this – which is interesting, but I won’t delve into now. I think that because I am so immersed in nature every single day, the idea of ‘place’ being a part of my identity is especially apparent and relevant to my life right now. Since I moved to the Pacific Northwest I have been in complete awe of the old growth forests, golden-green mosses, pensive gray mists, and other random, strange-looking things. But because I have no history with or knowledge of my ‘place’ here yet, a deep part of me has begun to long for what is familiar - red pine-needled forest floors, black flies, trees swelling with summer lime-green leaves, and other random, unexplainable sensations and happenings of nature that I grew up with and was a part of. I’m beginning to notice more and more that I don’t have any solid sense of what the rhythms of this ecosystem are – which leaves me with a vague feeling of dislocation and disconnect. I don’t know whether this is a unconscious longing to regress back to what is comfortable and familiar – or if it’s a feeling that signifies a need for my body and spirit to eventually return ‘Home’ – not necessarily my childhood home, but to a place I feel in sync with and am able to give and draw wisdom to and from. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see what happens next…

The Adirondacks with Dad!